[ she'll beat herself up later about how she didn't hear the footsteps coming up behind her. how she's so out of it that she can't keep up with the basics of self preservation. she's better than that, she knows it, but the last quest still hangs heavily from her shoulders. dust from ancient rome, spider webs from arachne's liar, the humid stench of tartarus at her feet. when annabeth blinks, she can feel herself hanging there, still, percy's hand in her's-
and then it's gone, replaced by the cheerful buzz of conversation. of a feast. she fends off that feeling of camp that threatens its way up her chest, because that's not true, that's not where she is, and once she can find percy they can work to get out of whatever part of tartarus or the underworld or whatever else they stumbled into.
that's when the voice comes in, behind and slightly off to one side, and annabeth tenses - ready to fight, ready to throw a punch, ready to dive - before it really sinks in whose voice that is. sandy hair, strong build, impish eyes...it's an image she can still see so clearly in the back of her head. he's dead rings clearly in her head, but as soon as she hears it she's retorting (to herself) 'and I'm supposed to be in Tartarus'. being surprised, or caught off-guard, was a right she didn't really have at this point. even if that didn't stop her from holding her breath, working herself up, as she turns.
that's when whatever handle she might have previously had on her reactions falls away, crumbles like the ground beneath her feet. her grey eyes widen, one foot sliding back a hair - she's not stepping back, would never let herself show that much weakness - but the shock that courses through her...
when she speaks, her voice is a little softer, a little more vulnerable, than she'd like. but it's what comes out, after a few heavy moments of silence, where she just stares. ]
no subject
and then it's gone, replaced by the cheerful buzz of conversation. of a feast. she fends off that feeling of camp that threatens its way up her chest, because that's not true, that's not where she is, and once she can find percy they can work to get out of whatever part of tartarus or the underworld or whatever else they stumbled into.
that's when the voice comes in, behind and slightly off to one side, and annabeth tenses - ready to fight, ready to throw a punch, ready to dive - before it really sinks in whose voice that is. sandy hair, strong build, impish eyes...it's an image she can still see so clearly in the back of her head. he's dead rings clearly in her head, but as soon as she hears it she's retorting (to herself) 'and I'm supposed to be in Tartarus'. being surprised, or caught off-guard, was a right she didn't really have at this point. even if that didn't stop her from holding her breath, working herself up, as she turns.
that's when whatever handle she might have previously had on her reactions falls away, crumbles like the ground beneath her feet. her grey eyes widen, one foot sliding back a hair - she's not stepping back, would never let herself show that much weakness - but the shock that courses through her...
when she speaks, her voice is a little softer, a little more vulnerable, than she'd like. but it's what comes out, after a few heavy moments of silence, where she just stares. ]
Luke? How...